


The Other Holmes

by MagdaTheMagpie



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Bickering, Family Secrets, M/M, Manipulation, Siblings Squabbling, Who's the smart one now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:12:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,292
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4792262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MagdaTheMagpie/pseuds/MagdaTheMagpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is about to meet another Holmes. It's not what he expected.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Other Holmes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [A_Sherlocked__Girl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/A_Sherlocked__Girl/gifts).



> Yes, I know I promised that "Dreamer" sequel oneshot, as well as a fourth part to "Deductions and a Touch of Magic" and they're in the making. No, really, they are, but sometimes you need to breathe out a little silliness before getting back to the real stuff. So, here's me being silly. Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks go to Abe who's always encouraging me in my writing adventures and my eldest son who makes me watch animal and nature shows on the telly - you'll understand why.

John walked up the stairs with the four grocery bags in his hands and the mail in his mouth. He’d been a bit over-ambitious this time around and he tried to call Sherlock down to help him but it mostly came out as grunts and unintelligible syllables. His flatmate, of course, did not answer his plea for help, so John ploughed on, bowed his head, squared his shoulders and breathed loudly through his nostrils. Only a few more steps… John pushed the door open with his good shoulder and let go of all the Tesco bags, being careful with the one containing his pots of jam, before he spit out the mail. He’d slobbered all over the Queen and quickly erased the evidence by wiping the stamps dry on his sleeve.

That’s when he noticed the flat was unusually quiet and that they had a guest.

“Oh, sorry,” John apologized, not feeling all that guilty when the guest only turned out to be Mycroft.

“I thought it would take you longer,” Sherlock stated, looking at the mound of groceries at his feet.

“Yes, well…” John frowned, noticing the two brothers were standing very close to one another.

Very, very suspicious behaviour. John narrowed his eyes and counted one two many pairs of legs between them. Definitely of the female persuasion too, and not old enough to belong to Mrs Hudson as they were rather pretty legs. Why were they hiding Anthea? No, not Anthea, she wouldn’t be wearing heels that were anything under four inches and the shoes he spied were more of the practical, comfortable variety.

“Who’s this, then?” John asked, with a vague nod of the head towards where the mystery-guest was being hidden from view by the two Holmeses.

Sherlock sighed and threw himself back in his armchair, but Mycroft was still resisting, standing right in front of the woman. Gods, John hoped it wasn’t The Woman again. She caused too much drama wherever she went and Sherlock might become all mopy again.

“Let it go, Mycroft,” Sherlock said. “He’s bound to find out the terrible truth sooner or later.”

“I’d rather later. Or never,” Mycroft muttered but stepped back reluctantly.

John could finally satisfy his curiosity but couldn’t help being a bit disappointed. He had half-expected to see someone famous, maybe even royalty, but it was simply a young woman, about the same age as Sherlock. Dark hair with auburn highlights, blue eyes, long nose, sharp cheekbones, she looked a bit familiar… John looked from Sherlock to the woman, to Mycroft then to the woman again.

“No,” he breathed out, feeling gobsmacked but wanting to giggle like a madman.

“Hi,” the woman chirped, extending a hand as she took a step forward. “You must be John. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Merivale Holmes, but you can just call me Merry.”

Before John could even shake the proffered hand, Sherlock snorted and Mycroft growled.

“Just ignore them, they’re  jealous they don’t get a nickname that doesn’t sound too horrendous. Right, Shelly? Mickey?” she added, addressing the scowling men behind her as she winked at John.

John couldn’t take it any more. He laughed. He laughed so hard, his sides were hurting and he had to brace himself against the table.

“This is all your fault,” Mycroft muttered at his brother.

“You brought her here to start with,” Sherlock snapped back.

John ignored the bickering, being all too used to it by now and got his breathing back under control. Enough to finally shake Merry’s hand. She was definitely a Holmes. She had the same looks and the same easy grace of the two brothers who were still squabbling like unruly children.

“Nice to meet you. I’m sorry I can’t say I heard anything about you, though. So you’re Sherlock’s... cousin?” John asked, coming to the only logical conclusion.

“Oh, no,” she replied, slapping his arm as if that was a good joke. “I’m their sister.”

John’s mind went blank. Sister?  That meant she was Sherlock’s sister, and Mycroft’s sister? That they grew up together? But she seemed so… normal? He looked at Sherlock for confirmation but he was now pouting with the bottom half of his face and glaring daggers at Mycroft with the top half.

“Don’t worry about it,” Merry added, seeing his confusion. “They never talk about me. I’m the black sheep of the family. I dare say they’re quite ashamed of me.”

“What?” John blurted out. _She_ was the black sheep amongst the Holmeses? Not Mycroft who kidnapped people on the streets just for kicks? Not Sherlock who used to be a drug addict and was so rude to people he got punched on a regular basis? What did _she_ do? Steal the crown jewels?

“She’s an idiot,” Sherlock cut in.

John scowled at him for being s rude, once again, but Merry just shrugged.

“He means I’m not like them,” she explained with a roll of her eyes.

John realized she’d probably been called an idiot and God knows what else numerous times by her brothers as she grew up.

“Well, thank God for small mercies,” John said with a smile. “Tea?”

“Please,” she replied, looked behind her at the cold war brewing between her two brothers and added, “I’ll help you.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

Sherlock caught motion in the corner of his eye and he shifted his gaze from Mycroft’s bad impersonification of a constipated eagle to the retreating backs of John and Merivale. He narrowed his eyes when they disappeared into the kitchen and furrowed his brow when he heard them laughing together.

“Can’t you two just leave now?” he snapped at Mycroft.

“No. Mummy asked us to keep an eye on Merivale while she was in London and I am not available, so the duty falls onto you.”

“Mummy wouldn’t entrust me with a pebble, Mycroft, and you know that. Just have one of you men tail her.”

“You know she always gives them the slip. She’s woefully dim, but bright enough when it comes to regaining her freedom.”

“So? Just have a dozen of your men shadow her.”

Mycroft made a sour face and didn’t reply.

“Well, your men must be pretty stupid, then,” Sherlock concluded.

Mycroft seemed about to retort when another bout of laughter drifted across the flat, followed soon after by the arrival of John, Merivale and a platter of tea and biscuits. Mycroft smiled, like a big toothy shark.

“John!” Mycroft exclaimed happily before Sherlock could find a diversion.

John turned a wary eye towards his brother as he handed him a teacup.

“I was wondering if you could look after my dear sister today? I am unfortunately unavailable, but mummy worries so much when Merivale is alone in London.”

John seemed relieved by the request for some unfathomable reason and he readily agreed. Everyone seemed happy with the arrangement. Everyone except him. Sherlock was baffled. Why would John want to spend the day with someone as simple and un-extraordinary as his sister? He’d be bored. Merivale wasn’t anything like him, she was more like… more like… John’s girlfriends. Oh.

Worried, he observed the rest of the conversation, burying his nose in the fragrant cup of tea John had handed him.

“So you’re only visiting? Where are you from?” John asked and the question would have been innocent enough if he had asked it to anyone else.

Sherlock growled in his cup but Mycroft tutted, asking Sherlock to play nice. John, sensing he had missed something, looked quizzically at each Holmes in turn. Sherlock wasn’t about to reveal the most vexing fact of his life, but Mycroft certainly had no qualms about it.

“Due to the nature of her occupation, Merivale couldn’t possibly tell you that.”

“Right. Thanks, Mycroft. Try to be anymore cryptic, why don’t you?” John muttered.

“I mean that she’s a terrorist. Terrorists don’t go giving out the location of their base, that would defeat the whole purpose,” Mycroft replied to which Merivale huffed while John’s expression became comically horrified. Sherlock had never seen him with such an expression, not even when he had opened the fridge to discover a severed head and that had been quite funny.

“I am not!” she exclaimed. “It’s only a matter of perspective.”

Mycroft snorted and reached for his third biscuit. At that rate, he would have to skip dinner.

“Care to explain, Merry?” John asked, his voice having become much cooler.

This was Captain John H. Watson speaking now, and he’d seen enough of his army friends blown up to pieces by bombs during his time in Afghanistan to have a strong dislike towards terrorists. Sherlock moved forward in his seat, watching avidly the confrontation between his sister and his friend. Maybe John would blow up and throw her and Mycroft out of their flat.

“I’m not a terrorist,” Merivale ascertained, throwing Mycroft a dirty look. “I’m an eco-warrior. But _some people_ who disagree with our actions do call us that. It just depends which side of the fence you’re sitting on.”

“Oh!” John looked at her with renewed interest and Sherlock threw himself back in his armchair in disgust. “So you’re a militant for animal rights? You chain yourself to trees, clean birds in oil spills, save baby seals and stuff like that?”

Merivale giggled, making John smile. She was such a… girl. Sherlock couldn’t understand why John liked women. They were especially shrill and annoying. Wait, John didn’t like his sister, did he? Surely, there must be a rule somewhere forbidding your friend or flatmate from courting your sister?

“I’m more interested in whales actually, so I’m on a boat most of the time, which is why I can’t tell you where I’m from. Not because I’m a terrorist.”

“The Japanese arrested you for terrorism. Twice,” Mycroft argued, which was followed by a long, and yes, rather shrill rant against whales, or whalers. Sherlock wasn’t sure and couldn’t care less about big fishes that lived on the other side of the planet, but he noted with disgust that John seemed fascinated the redder Merivale grew as her anger at Mycroft reached new peaks of whining.

“And if you really think that I am so in the wrong, then you should not have pulled any strings to get me out of their stinking jail!” she concluded and then blushed some more when she realised what an idiot  she’d just made of herself, as usual.

And John, the fool that he was, was positively twinkling in delight. Sherlock flinched when he directed that glee at him.

“What?” he snapped irritably.

“That’s why you’re so grumpy,” John told him and Sherlock could swear he’d go blind if his friend’s smile got any wider.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he muttered but he had a sinking feeling he knew exactly what John had uncovered and he didn’t like it one bit.

“I can understand why you dislike Mycroft. Hell, everyone dislikes Mycroft,” John said and Mycroft did not even try to protest, only furrowed his brow a little and took another biscuit. “But your own sweet sister? You’d have to have a good reason...”

John was teasing now, and Sherlock hated it. Maybe he could throw the damn Union Jack cushion in his face to shut him up and get that goofy smile off his face while he was at it.

“You’re jealous,” John concluded victoriously and Sherlock closed his eyes in defeat, not wanting to see the triumph lit his eyes. “Because she’s a _pirate_!”

And there it was. They were all laughing at him because he’d been bested by his dim-witted sister who had accomplished his dream of being a pirate when he had let logic dictate to him that it was not a realistic option career-wise.

“She’s not even the captain,” he grumbled in protest and jumped in surprise when John leaned over to pat his knee.

Sherlock glared at his so-called friend. He’d need to do better than that before Sherlock even considered accepting an apology. Merivale wasn’t a real pirate, whatever anyone said. She didn’t even own a parrot. What kind of pirate was that?

His sister leaned over to John once more to whisper something in his ear and John laughed again. That was the last straw, he had to get rid of her. Mycroft read his intention of course, because he was suddenly up and halfway across the room, brushing crumbs off his suit and telling them he’d be back by the end of the day. The muttered “probably” that was tacked on after that statement was not reassuring. Sherlock texted insults to Mycroft to vent his frustrations, trying to ignore the obvious complicity and instant liking between John and his sister. It was really quite a disgusting display so he resolved to do the only thing he could think of in such a situation which was to go sulk in his room and pretend this day had never happened.

 

* * *

 

 

“Uh, uh, uh,” Merivale said sternly, catching the lapel of her idiotic brother’s suit vest. “I don’t think so, young man.”

“Young man?” John chuckled. “Wait, I know Mycroft is the eldest, but what about you two?”

“I’m the middle child,” Merry said before making a dramatic face. “Unfortunately. You can imagine what it’s been like for me trying to keep this little monster from biting Mickey’s head off during our whole childhood.”

“Yes,” John said. “No,” he added immediately, shaking his head in horror. “God, no.”

“She’s only my elder by order of birth. She has the intelligence of a baby gnat in comparison.” The insult was hardly original, but they’d ran out of ways to belittle her intelligence, or lack thereof, somewhere in their teens, and it did not even phase her, so she was surprised when John intervened.

“Sherlock,” he exclaimed, both a reprimand and a cry of outrage and disappointment.

Merry watched in interest as Sherlock looked sincerely ill at ease at being called out on his rudeness. Interesting. There was more to this Doctor Watson than either of her brothers had let on. She observed her baby brother, struggling for words of apology, then John, his face smoothing out with understanding and fondness. Oh, interesting indeed! She could see the man had a good influence on Sherlock, had been surprised by the change she’d already noticed upon meeting with him again after so long but she had ascribed that to the passing of time mellowing him. Silly her. No, she really was quite silly at times. But these two idiots didn’t seem to be taking the next logical step either in their growing relationship.

Resolved to do what needed to be done, Merry smiled wickedly at Sherlock who stopped mid-phrase and looked at her in horror.

“What’s the matter, Sherlock? It looks like you’ve just seen a ghost,” John asked, his brow furrowing in concern.

Aww, he really was very sweet. She could see how Sherlock got so attached to him and so much more…  human, for lack of a better word.

“Her,” Sherlock said pointing an accusing finger at Merry who immediately dropped her smile, raised her eyebrows, making wide innocent eyes that had served her well in her battles against her brothers when their parents were hunting for the culprit party of such or such minor incident. “That face!”

John looked at her and she shrugged, but it was really hard to keep up the charade, it was just too funny. John shrugged back and asked Sherlock to explain, pushing his shaking finger back down.

“She made that… creepy smile… that exact same face when she told me she was going to be a pirate. I still have nightmares about it,” Sherlock hissed, narrowing his eyes at her, evidently trying to deduce what she was going to take away from him this time around.

His eyes slid from her over to John and her lips quirked upwards ever so slightly. The look of unadulterated fear on his face was pure joy for her.

“No, no, no, no, no!” Sherlock said with mounting horror while the doctor tried to calm him but Sherlock sprung to his feet and stood between John and her. “You can’t have him! He’s mine!”

Unfortunately, Sherlock was blocking her view of John, because she would have loved to see his expression at that moment, but all she could glimpse was his body freezing, ramrod straight as if he’d been hit by a bolt of lightning. Good enough. So they hadn’t even gotten that far. Time to push things fast forward for a bit.

“Why? Whatever do you mean, Shelly?” she asked all sweet and innocent.

“You know very well what I mean, _Merry_ ,” he spat with contempt, looming over her.

She took the opportunity to take a step to the side and could now spy John’s reactions. Perfect. She smiled. John was to engrossed by the back of Sherlock’s head to even see her anyway.

“You stole my dream of being a pirate, I’m not letting you steal my John from me. Never,” Sherlock said with finality, ever the drama-queen.

“I assure you, brother dear. I have no designs whatsoever on John. You do realize I’ve only just met him, don’t you?”

“Exactly!” he said triumphantly. “I’ve known him for years and he’s mine. I won’t let you, or any of his other vacuous ‘girlfriends’ take him away from me.”

John’s mouth fell open and a look of realization crossed his face. If she had to guess, Merry would bet good money that Sherlock had been a scarecrow in John’s amorous life. Poor bloke. How he put up with his brother was a mystery even Mycroft had not been able to explain to her.

“Oh, dear,” she said with mock concern. “I think you’d better tell John that.”

She pointed to Sherlock’s back where John had turned a light shade of pink, his eyes going wide when Sherlock whirled around, apparently having occluded the fact his heart’s desire was standing right there behind him. She’d always found Sherlock easier to derail than Mycroft and she sat back down in her armchair to sip her tea and enjoy the show.

“John,” Sherlock said.

That was it? Oh, come on. He was usually much more vocal than that.

“Sherlock?” John asked.

Or were they just saying a lot of things in each others name, like old married couples did. Merry took a nibble of the scone she had been served earlier and watched with baited breath as both men took a step towards each other, an arm extending upwards, an arm extending forward in welcome, a graceful ballet in motion, a mating dance as seen in the animal kingdom she loved so much.

Merry leaned to the left to have a better view just as lips met, eyes closed and faces flushed. She grinned in victory and decided she’d better take her leave before things got any more passionate than this was rapidly turning into. As much as she was happy to see her baby brother happy and in love, she had no desire to see him perform the act itself on the carpet in the middle of the living room where she’d apparently been forgotten.

 

* * *

 

 

Later, much, much later, when Mycroft was panicking about her disappearance and sending men stomping after her all over London, playing their usual game of hide and seek on a large scale, Merivale received a text from her least annoying brother.

**Thank you, Merry. I’m sorry I doubted you. -SH**

Definitely more human. John Watson had really transformed her brother for the better, made a good man out of him. Pocketing her phone, she wondered how she could find Mycroft a goldfish of his own.


End file.
